


Full Circle

by Engineer104



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Love Confessions, Mutual Pining, Post-Canon, gone wrong at first
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-06-23 05:41:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15599520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Engineer104/pseuds/Engineer104
Summary: “I’m happy to be back, but I kind of don’t want to be.”Lance, surprised, stared at Pidge. “What do you mean?”“It feels like the end, doesn’t it? We’re back on Earth - back where we started - and it feels like we’ve come full circle.”“Yeah, but circles just keep going, don’t they?”---Or, Lance and Pidge return to where they started, but it will never be the same again.





	1. Full Circle

**Author's Note:**

> yes uh before you ask, the first chapter of this _was_ posted in my big prompt fill collection but after posting the second (much longer) part I decided to post both together as their own fic. so if you've seen this before, fear not, I know what i'm doing ;)
> 
> and it was also originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/175329918133/full-circle)

“Hunk?”

“Yeah?”

“I think Pidge is avoiding me.”

Hunk pushed himself out from underneath the Yellow Lion’s belly. “What makes you say that?”

Lance stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets and shrugged. “I don’t know. It just seems that every time I want to talk to her, she isn’t there.”

Hunk sat up, resting his elbows on his knees and raising a  _very_  judgmental eyebrow. “That sounds oddly selective.”

“I’m just saying,” Lance said with a sigh, “without the Castle, it’s kind of hard to avoid anyone else, so it seems too  _convenient_  that Pidge is the person I see the  _least_.”

Hunk frowned. “You want to talk to her about anything in particular?”

“Well, no...” Lance glanced over his shoulder, gaze catching on the Green Lion standing sentinel at the edge of the valley with no Green Paladin in sight. “We’re both  _arms_  so it feels like she should always be within reach, right?”

Hunk snickered, and when Lance shot him a questioning look he said, “Pun intended?”

Lance scowled and crossed his arms. “The pun is never intended.”

“All right, well, I think that if you  _really_  want to talk to her, go find her. She won’t  _avoid_  you if you’re direct.”

“She took her speeder into the forest,” Lance admitted, hunching his shoulders.

“Then wait till she gets back?” Hunk, apparently losing interest in Lance’s dilemma, lay down, a pair of pliers in hand. “Just tell her what’s on your mind, and who knows? She might reward you with honesty.”

Lance squinted at him, then rolled his eyes, deciding he’d imagined the double meaning in Hunk’s advice.

* * *

 

Pidge tucked her helmet under her arm, walking towards the Green Lion and intent on changing out of her armor and back into her more comfortable civvies for the evening. Her back ached from bending over to forage for edible plants, but she could rest easy knowing they’d soon be in her belly.

Lance stood in her path.

Pidge stiffened, her grip on her helmet tightening. “Lance,” she said. “Can I…help you?”

“Had fun hunting and gathering?” Lance wondered. He bounced on the balls of his feet, his hands in his pockets.

“Didn’t really do any hunting,” Pidge told him. Something about his demeanor put her on edge, her heart pounding, and she couldn’t help feeling like he had her cornered.

It didn’t help that she’d been avoiding him lately…

“Too bad. I’m getting tired of root vegetables and leafy greens.”

Pidge shot him a sly grin. “We can always slaughter—”

“Don’t you dare!” Lance cut her off, his eyes wide with horror. “She’s your daughter too, remember?”

Pidge laughed, pretending that her face didn’t warm at the strange implication behind  _your daughter too_. “I’m only teasing you, Lance,” she said.

Lance crossed his arms and sniffed pointedly. “Well, it wasn’t very funny.”

“Right…” Pidge shuffled her feet, growing uncomfortable - or not  _quite_  uncomfortable.

It was difficult to put a name to how and  _why_  she felt so  _edgy_  around Lance, her hands too sweaty and her chest too tight, every silence awkward and every word out of her mouth making her  _cringe_.

So she preferred to avoid him whenever possible, to lurk in her Lion when not on a mission or to put someone else as a buffer between them.

Besides, avoidance was easy enough when he spent so much time around…someone else.

“So, actually, there  _is_  something you can help me with,” Lance said.

“Well, unless it’s a computer or tech thing—”

“Why are you avoiding me?” Lance blurted.

Pidge’s jaw dropped, but she collected herself quickly, clearing her throat and stuttering, “I-I’m not!”

“Really?” Lance narrowed his eyes at her. “Because it kind of  _feels_  like you are.”

“I—” Pidge growled, rubbing her eyes in frustration - her helmet falling to the ground and rolling a few feet away. “I’m  _not_.”

“Are you sure though?” Lance said, his tone a little… _somber_.

Pidge glanced up in time to see him bend down and pick up her dropped helmet.

He sighed - and damn him, why did he have to look sad enough that her chest actually  _ached_?

“Maybe it just seems like I am because we’re on the move,” Pidge lied.

Lance held out her helmet, and when she took it he said, “Maybe.”

“I-I’m sorry it seemed like that,” Pidge said, and she meant it.

(She hadn’t thought he’d care enough to notice…)

“You’re probably right.” Lance shrugged. “Heck, it might just be that I’m getting used to seeing you a lot, so when I see you less it’s weird.” He flashed her a smile. “Guess we have to make more of an effort, right? Don’t want to go back to the way it was at the Garrison.”

Pidge bowed her head, his words hitter her hard.

“I don’t want that either,” she confessed, offering him a tentative smile of her own.

Lance’s grin widened, and he threw an arm around her neck and tugged her into his side. “Awesome! Now, why don’t you come hang out with me and Hunk? He’ll probably be cooking dinner soon anyway.”

Heat clawed up Pidge’s neck. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to step away or lean in, so she chose the safer option and stood still, the air trapped in her lungs. “I, uh, wanted to change out of my armor first,” she told him.

“Oh, sure, go do that!” Lance let go of her and stepped backwards a few paces. “See you soon?”

“Yeah, see you,” Pidge said.

Lance pointed finger-guns at her, then spun on his heel and walked away. While she watched, he glanced back over her shoulder, as if to reassure himself she’d soon follow, and waved.

Pidge waved back, an unwitting smile on her face while a funny flutter filled her chest, and turned to head into her Lion.

Green rumbled beneath her, and as Pidge excavated her way through the cluttered cockpit, she had the strange impression that her Lion was trying to tell her something… _unusual_.

Unusual for a Lion, at least.

Pidge hummed tunelessly while she dressed, a smile still on her face and a new feeling taking hold. It had been so long since she’d felt this happy - not since she found her father. And yet, if a simple objective like  _not_  avoiding Lance could do this then—

Her hairbrush slipped through her fingers and fell to the floor with a clatter that echoed throughout the cockpit, but Pidge barely heard it.

Avoid. Happy.  _Lance_.

“ _Quiznak_.”

* * *

 

“So here we are.”

“Here we are.”

“On Earth.”

“Where else?”

“Where it all started…”

Pidge snorted. “Please, it started ten thousand years ago,” she said, her elbow digging into Lance’s side.

They stood together on the edge of the Garrison roof where they first watched Shiro’s Galra pod plummet to the ground, the impact crater lying within their sights.

How things had changed since then.

“Where’s Hunk?” Pidge asked, glancing over her shoulder. “If we  _really_  wanted to recreate that night, then he should be here.”

“And there should be a blockaded tent over there”—Lance nodded towards the crater—”and any tick a few blasts will go off in the desert.”

Pidge laughed. “Okay, maybe not  _exactly_  how it was that night.”

“Yeah, not exactly.” Lance peeked at her out of the corner of his eye. “For one, I know you’re a girl now.”

She rolled her eyes and spun around, her pleated skirt swirling through the air before gravity brought it back down. “Disappointing for you, I’m sure.”

“Why would it be?”

“I deprived you the opportunity to drop a pickup line or two on me,” Pidge said, her expression flat.

Lance couldn’t tell if she thought that was a good thing or a bad thing, but something about her tone made his insides squirm like he’d caught Coran’s intestinal eel. “Either way, it feels weird to stand here after everything that’s happened.”

“Yeah, I even accomplished my mission.” Pidge scowled. “Take  _that_ , Commander Iverson.”

Lance laughed and nudged her in the side, and when she turned her face towards him, an eyebrow raised, he said, “I’m impressed you didn’t punch him the first chance you got.”

“Oh, I was too busy drinking in the look on his face when he saw that  _you_  were the one piloting the Red Lion.” Pidge smirked, flicking him in the ear. “Not bad, the  _Tailor_.”

Lance’s cheeks flushed, and he scratched his chin, a touch awkward and a touch…indescribably  _fond_. Something warm swelled in his chest, the feeling so familiar - yet also strange.

For one, he’d never associated it with  _Pidge_  before.

He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his slacks and grinned. “What can I say? I’m a stunner.”

Pidge’s face flattened. “You know what? I changed my mind.”

“About what?”

“You haven’t changed at all.”

“W-what?” Lance sputtered. “ _Changed_?”

“Well, you  _kind of_  have,” Pidge explained, her eyes softening. “You  _are_  more mature, but deep down I know you’re still the same goofball I fell—I mean, that followed me onto the roof.” She cleared her throat and gazed back out over the desert.

“You fell…what?” Lance blinked at her, confused. “When did you fall? That last time we were in the flight simulator?”

“Never mind,” Pidge mumbled, her face red.

“Hmm, in that case…” Lance, growing annoyed, narrowed his eyes at her. “You haven’t changed much either. You’re still so… _tight-lipped_  sometimes.”

“Yes, you’re the same  _nosy_ goofball that was piloting a flight simulator when I fell and hit my head,” Pidge grumbled, crossing her arms.

“Well, right now I kind of feel like I hit  _my_  head because I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Lance flailed his arms, gesturing towards her. “What happened? We were having a nice night!”

Pidge sighed, gaze downcast…refusing to look at him. “It doesn’t matter. Let’s go back inside; the party  _is_  in our honor and I know you like being the center of attention.” She turned to leave, but before she could step too far Lance grabbed her wrist.

“Pidge, what’s wrong?” he asked, frowning, a sudden ache in his heart. When she didn’t tug her hand away, it emboldened him to press, “What did I say?”

“Nothing,” Pidge said. She offered him a slight - unhappy - smile. “You just…I don’t know. Don’t worry about it.”

If he could turn back time…

“Okay.” He returned her smile, putting a little more effort into it. “I guess I won’t.”

Except he did, and when her spirits didn’t pick up no matter how much he teased and poked and  _baited_  her, he said, “Please tell me what’s wrong, Pidge. I don’t like seeing you like this.”

“It’s not your problem, Lance.” Pidge crossed her arms, her eyes fixed on a star-studded sky above - the same sky they first connected under.

“But if it was something I said—”

“It was something  _I_ said,” Pidge interrupted, “so can we just drop it,  _again_?”

Lance sighed and wondered, “Anything I can do?”

She shook her head but stepped closer to him so that their arms brushed. “I’m happy to be back, but I kind of don’t want to be.”

Lance, surprised, stared at her. “What do you mean?”

“It feels like the end, doesn’t it? We’re back on Earth - back where  _we_  started - and it feels like we’ve come full circle.”

“Yeah, but circles just keep going, don’t they?” Lance poked her cheek, and when she swatted his hand away - cheered that she was acting more like herself - he added, “Circles don’t have endings, Pidge. You can thank geometry for that lesson.”

Pidge snorted, but then a smile - real, genuine, the sort that made warmth bloom in his chest - stretched across her face. “I’m glad you learned  _something_  in math.”

“Oh, I learned  _plenty_ ,” Lance retorted. “It was my best subject after all the rest.”

Pidge laughed. “I’m sure you would’ve been better if you didn’t spend all that time flirting with Jenny what’s-her-face.”

“You weren’t even in the same class,” Lance grumbled, rolling his eyes.

“Wait, I was  _right_?” Pidge covered her mouth and  _giggled_. “I was just guessing that would be why!”

Lance scowled. “Oh, really? And why did you think  _that_  had something to do with it?”

“Because it’s just so… _you_ :  see a pretty girl and act like a fool to get her attention, except…” She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “You don’t seem to do that so much anymore.”

Lance’s heart dropped, and he quietly admitted, “What’s the point when it doesn’t work?”

An uncomfortable silence descended, one where Pidge didn’t look at him…but he couldn’t tear his gaze away from her.

He wanted her to smile again.

“Pidge,” he began, “I—”

“I’m in love with you, okay?” she snapped, throwing up her hands.

Lance’s heart skipped a beat, his eyes shooting open and his words catching in his throat. “What?”

“And I  _hate_  that,” Pidge continued, “because you don’t feel the same, but I can’t just turn it off so I’m stuck in this  _awful_ cycle where I want to be around you because it hurts when I’m not and I want to avoid you because it hurts when I don’t and—”

Lance kissed her.

Words failed him, so he tugged her towards him by the arm and kissed her.

Pidge gasped when their noses bumped, but Lance adjusted, tilting his head. Her hands clutched at the lapels of his jacket as she pulled him closer, her lips moving against his.

It sent a thrill through his blood, everything from the taste of her mouth to the heat of her body, at odds with the cool night air, and stole the breath straight from his lungs.

Pidge pulled back, short of breath, her wide eyes snapping onto his.

“Katie—”

She shoved him away.

Lance stumbled backwards, his heart jumping into his throat as he caught his balance. “What—”

“What the  _quiznak_  was that for?” Pidge demanded, fists at her sides.

“What did it look like?” Lance said, matching her tone.

“You—you  _kissed_  me!” Pidge touched her lips, looking no less stunned than when she pushed him away.

His stomach twisted with dread as he said, “I thought that was what you wanted.”

“N-not like that!” she said, shaking her head. “N-not when you don’t feel the same.” She pinched her eyes shut and inhaled shakily. “J-just because you can’t be with Allura - just because  _I_ _’m_  available doesn’t mean I want you like—like  _that_.”

“Wait—but—that’s not—Pidge!”

Pidge spun on her heel, the hem of her skirt billowing around her, and fled the roof.

She did a poor job hiding her tears.

Lance stood frozen with a lump in his throat, wanting to go after her and  _needing_  to explain, to smooth over the misunderstanding - but he knew it wouldn’t be welcome, not yet.

“But…I  _do_ , Pidge,” Lance muttered, his chest aching more than he ever thought possible. “I love you, too.”


	2. And Back Around Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/176528582153/full-circle-part-two-and-back-around-again)

Pidge fled the roof, leaving Lance behind her. She blinked hot tears from her eyes, trying to stem the flow before they left watery black trails on her cheeks - or before anyone at the party could spot her.

She skirted the ballroom, darting behind tables of refreshments and dodging colorful Coalition members and Garrison officers in crisp dress uniforms alike.

One of them was her father, and before the evening ended she’d be going back home with him and have to answer all manner of awkward questions like,  _Katie, sweetie, why are you crying?_

The bathroom lay beyond the ballroom at the other end of the hallway and within easy reach - but not so easy that an obstacle wouldn’t stand in her path.

Pidge pretended she hadn’t glimpsed Hunk and attempted to shove past him with a muttered, “Excuse me.”

“Pidge?” Hunk grabbed her shoulder before she could slip by, halting her. “What happened?”

“N-none of your business,” she said, wrenching her shoulder from his grip.

“Wait, where’s Lance?” Hunk’s gaze slipped past her, in the direction she’d come. “Didn’t you go up to the roof together?”

Pidge sniffed and wiped her eyes, her chest clenching at the reminder. Her fingers came away wet and stained with mascara, and she doubted her face looked much better.

Oh, good, just what she needed:  _another_  obvious sign that she was crying.

“I d-don’t want to t-talk about it, Hunk,” she said. She crossed her arms, hunching her shoulders as if that would drive him away.

“Oh, Pidge, you’re back!”

“Oh for God’s sake!” Pidge hissed when Keith stepped into her view.

Keith blinked, staring between her and Hunk and—

“What did Lance do?” he wondered.

“What?” Pidge said, the fact that  _Keith_  of all people would alight on the issue shocking her. “Why do you think—”

“You left the party with him,” Keith stated, his tone matter-of-fact, “and now you’re back without him, and…” His brow furrowed, and he reached into the pocket of his trousers and pulled out a handkerchief.

When he offered it to her, Pidge demanded, “Who the quiznak still carries  _handkerchiefs_?”

Keith’s brow furrowed. “I do? But if you don’t want it—”

Pidge snatched it from his fingers and wiped at her snotty nose. “Thanks,” she mumbled.

For the moment, the absolute  _surprise_  at learning that Keith carried a handkerchief amused Pidge. Her chest didn’t hurt so much and her tears quit flowing. She couldn’t fight a slight smile - nor did she want to - when Hunk rested a hand on her shoulder.

“So what happened?” Keith asked.

Pidge crushed the handkerchief in her hand, her nose wrinkling at a fresh wave of heartache. “I already t-told Hunk I don’t want t-to talk about it,” she muttered, staring at the floor through  _silly_  welling tears.

“But Lance  _did_  have something to—ow!”

Pidge glanced up, sniffling, in time to witness Hunk’s elbow connecting with Keith’s arm. Somehow, she sobbed and laughed at the same time.

“We don’t have to talk about it now,” Hunk said.

“Or ever,” Pidge argued.

“That might be…debatable,” Hunk said, pressing his hands together and smiling sheepishly.

Keith crossed his arms and agreed, “Yeah, we have a meeting tomorrow.”

Pidge sagged, her stomach filling with dread. “Quiznak. Any chance I can skip that?”

Keith shook his head. “If I can’t skip, then you’re not either.”

“But I can’t s-see him,” Pidge whined, more than aware how unreasonable she sounded. She wiped at her watering eyes with Keith’s handkerchief, frustration at her tears building, and turned her back to Hunk and Keith so they wouldn’t see her distress.

It backfired when the cause stepped into the ballroom.

Pidge’s heart skipped a beat - God, how  _unfair_  - as Lance scanned the hall with wide eyes, his brow uncharacteristically furrowed. “I have to go,” she announced, the energy in her blood urging her to move as fast and as far as possible. “I can’t talk to him.”

“Wait, Pidge—”

Pidge fled the ballroom bearing a heavy heart threatening to drag her back.

* * *

Movement closer to the ballroom’s exit caught Lance’s attention.

He glanced in that direction in time to see Pidge’s skirt disappearing.

“Pidge!” he called, jogging in a pitiful attempt to catch up. He shoved his way through Garrison officials and alien dignitaries - earlier he’d observed to Pidge how  _strange_  it was seeing such disparate groups mingle - but the more he fought his way towards Pidge, the more obstacles fell in his way.

Conversations grew louder, the jazz ensemble on the stage played more raucous music, and dancing couples darted across his path.

He had to catch up, get to Pidge before she left - he wouldn’t see her again until the meeting tomorrow, and who  _knew_  if he’d have the chance to speak to her then? - and  _explain_ —

“Whoa there, buddy!”

Lance fought the large hand that came down on his shoulder. “I have to talk to Pidge,” he told Hunk without so much as glancing towards him. “I screwed up and I have to tell her—”

“What did you do?” Keith stood before him, his arms crossed and a scowl on his face. “Why is Pidge so upset?”

“I don’t have time to chat with you, Keith,” Lance grumbled, but before he could slip past him, Hunk dragged him backwards.

“I need to talk to her,” Lance insisted, his gaze still fixed on the ballroom exit.

“We know,” Hunk said with a heavy sigh, “and you will, but not tonight.”

“But—”

“She’s not going to want to see you now,” Hunk pointed out, tone irritatingly reasonable.

Lance’s heart sank impossibly deeper. “Hunk, you don’t understand.”

“Then explain it.”

“She left before I could  _tell_  her.” Lance swallowed around the lump in his throat and coughed to cover up the tremor that he was sure would be in his voice. “Pidge—I messed up. I did it in the wrong order—”

“Did  _what_?” Keith demanded, throwing his arms up in frustration. “Why are you both so  _vague_?”

“Okay, Keith,” Hunk said, glancing at him, “you need to chill. And Lance”—he squeezed his shoulder—”what  _did_  you do?”

“I’d love to tell you all about it,” Lance said, shuffling his feet and considering how to both side-step Keith and slip out of Hunk’s grip, “but Pidge—”

Hunk grabbed both of his shoulders and looked him in the eye when he said, “Lance, I have no idea what you did to Pidge, but something - most notably her quiznaking  _tears_  - tells me you need to give her some space.”

“Sh-she’s still crying?” Lance exclaimed, his eyes wide and his heart pounding.

“ _Still_  crying?” Keith said, his voice dangerously low.

Lance should’ve been with Pidge, comforting her rather than leaving her to hide alone in some hidden corner of the Garrison - and if anyone knew where  _those_  were it would be her - but here he stood being thwarted by two of his best friends—

And Pidge wouldn’t be crying if not for him.

Lance sagged, his face twisting and a too-familiar heat in his eyes. “What if she doesn’t want to talk to me later, Hunk?” he muttered.

“Well, she definitely doesn’t want to talk to you now,” Hunk observed with a raised eyebrow. But he smiled and said, “It might not be as bad as you think. Pidge would probably forgive you of anything short of murder.”

“You know she’d forgive him that too,” Keith said, “unless it was her brother he murdered.”

“Or her dad,” Hunk added, nodding.

“Her mother too probably,” Keith continued with a slight smile.

“Shiro too, I think.”

“Oh, for sure!” Keith nudged Hunk in the side. “Hey, maybe—”

“All right, I get it,” Lance said, a strangled laugh escaping him as he rubbed his eyes.

“But our point is that as long as you didn’t kill or kidnap her family members you’ll patch things up with her.” Hunk patted his back for emphasis. “So what’s the damage?”

Lance sighed and mumbled, “I kissed her.”

Hunk’s jaw dropped. “You—”

“Are you  _that_  bad at it?” Keith said, glancing in the direction Pidge fled.

Heat rose to Lance’s face as he scowled. “I am  _not_.”

Before Keith could make some sarcastic retort, Hunk cut in, “I’m confused: Pidge told me she likes you.”

“She  _did_?” Lance swiveled to gape at Hunk.

“Well, not in so many words,” Hunk admitted with a sheepish smile. “It’s more like she talks about you - she says some  _very_ unflattering things sometimes too - a lot, and I read her journal—”

“You have a problem, man,” Keith muttered.

“—and she gives you these  _looks_ ”—Hunk batted his eyes at Lance—”and she always looks like she’s trying not to laugh when you tell jokes that really aren’t that funny, and of course we can’t forget the Sentry Slap Incident.”

“The…what?” Keith said.

“Oh, I guess you weren’t there for that!” Hunk grinned and explained, “Remember that one mission where…”

But Lance barely heard him, too consumed by his own stunned thought process as the flush in his cheeks spread and left Lance speechless. Was it  _really_  so obvious that Pidge  _felt_  something for  _him_?

Was he really so dense that he never noticed?

“I should’ve told her before I kissed her,” Lance mumbled, half to himself.

“What?” Keith said, cutting Hunk off mid-sentence.

“I…she thinks I don’t feel the same.” He rubbed his face and groaned, guilt making his stomach churn. “I spent so long mooning over someone else that she never realized I got over Allura and fell for her instead.”

“I see…classic miscommunication,” Hunk said, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “You kind of  _did_  screw up, Lance.”

“Thank you for your sympathy,” Lance grumbled.

“Why did you kiss her at all?” Keith wondered. “If you didn’t know she felt that way—”

“She told me that she’s in love with me,” Lance said.

He still couldn’t believe it, and the very thought that Pidge  _loved_  him dispelled some of the anxiety in him.

“At least…she  _was_ ,” he added, heart heavy all over again.

“Oh, come on,” Hunk said, rubbing his back. “Feelings that strong don’t go away just because of one mistake.”

“Yeah,” Keith said, nodding, “and if she’s held onto them for this long, they won’t disappear easily.”

“You’ll be kissing again before you know it!” Hunk told Lance with an impish grin.

“Just don’t do it in front of me,” Keith added, his eyes narrowing.

“Or me!” Hunk said gleefully.

Lance laughed, cheered despite his persistent misery. “Thanks, guys,” he said. “I actually…kind of feel better about this.”

“You should,” Hunk said, wrapping an arm around his back. “Just give Pidge a little time to cool down, and then you can explain whatever it is you need to.”

“That I don’t want her just because she’s  _available_ …”

Hunk winced, and even Keith looked discomfited by the statement. “That’s an uphill battle for you,” he said. “Good luck convincing her.”

Lance rolled his eyes but decided it was time to stop feeling bad and to start planning.

He would win Pidge over - convince her that he loved her for  _her_  and not for the  _idea_  of her - and he would do it the way he knew best.

Lance would embrace the goofball in him.

* * *

The meeting at the Garrison dissolved into a shouting match between Commander Iverson and Captain Olia about the Coalition’s obligations regarding Earth’s defenses within moments of beginning.

“I told you they wouldn’t get along,” Lance muttered to the person sitting beside him.

“You did?” Keith frowned. “I don’t remember that.”

Lance flushed and said, “Oh, wait, I forgot it wasn’t—never mind.” He covered his face, both embarrassed at the mistake and heavy of heart at the reminder that Pidge sat on the opposite end of the long conference table - as far from him as she could get and still be in the same room.

Not for the first time since the start of the meeting, his gaze darted in her direction. She sat between her father and brother, eyes glazed with boredom and face glum.

If only she’d been with Lance. He knew how to keep her interested—

Matt rested his hand on Pidge’s shoulder and muttered something into her ear. She glanced towards Commander Holt, who’d just stood to join Princess Allura in intervening with the fight.

A smile flitted across her face, but it vanished as quickly as it came.

Lance’s chest tightened. He knew he was responsible for this, so he  _had_  to fix it.

When a frustrated Allura temporarily adjourned the meeting while she, Shiro, and Sam Holt took Iverson and Olia aside for a more private “discussion”, Lance, intent on enacting his vague plan to reconcile with Pidge, pushed his chair back and stood.

“Where are you going?” Keith asked, tone instantly suspicious.

Lance very deliberately turned away from Pidge and towards the table of refreshments at the back of the room. “I’m going to make Hunk proud and get a snack.”

“Right,” Keith said, a skeptical eyebrow raised, but he only rolled his eyes when Lance flashed him a reassuring grin.

An odd assortment of refreshments - multiple human  _and_  alien cuisines - decorated the table. Others attending the meeting picked at it, including Coran, who held a slice of watermelon up to his face.

“Oh, Number Four!” he said, catching sight of Lance. “How exactly does one eat this pink…thing?”

Lance frowned at the nickname - he used to be Number  _Three_  - but said, “It’s watermelon.”

“Really? Should I dip it in a cup of water?”

Lance laughed. “No, you eat it like that. It’s good in summer after a long day swimming.”

Coran hummed thoughtfully and pointed at a black seed. “Are these edible?”

“Only if you roast them…”

“Oh in that case I’m certain I saw a fire-breathing Morosian—”

“You know what, Coran?” Lance said, crossing his arms. “It might just be easier to pick the seeds out and eat the watermelon.”

“Oh, all right!” Coran nibbled the slice. “This is lovely! Very refreshing.” He grabbed a plate and piled more onto it. “I wonder how it would taste with this cheese…”

“Better ask Hunk about that,” Lance suggested.

“I think I shall!” Coran drifted away, leaving Lance both bewildered and able to focus on more important things.

Like the idea Coran had just given him, the bunch of grapes next to the watermelon, and their role in the plan unfolding in his head.

Lance grabbed a disposable cup and scrawled “ _Watch this_ ” on it before setting it at the head of the table opposite the end at which he sat - but close to Pidge. He made sure the note faced her, lingering long enough for his heart to grow heavy and for words she wouldn’t want to hear to threaten to fall from his tongue, before he returned.

She still didn’t look at him, only sitting there twisting the end of her ponytail around a finger and scanning a page of incomprehensible notes.

Lance returned to his seat and promptly turned to Keith, shoving a plate piled with slices of watermelon towards him. “So…fancy a challenge while we wait?”

Keith’s eyes narrowed. “What did you have in mind?”

Lance pointed to the cup he’d planted. “Spitting melon seeds into that cup. Whoever gets more in wins.”

“Wins…what?” Keith asked, an eyebrow quirking - with interest, Lance hoped.

“Bragging rights?”

Keith glanced around the room, then once more down the table. “And what if we hit someone?”

“Uh…fifty points to Gryffindor if it’s to the head?”

Keith shrugged and said, “All right. Guess if we have nothing better to do while we wait…”

Lance didn’t point out that Allura would doubtless tell them otherwise and instead picked up his first watermelon slice.

His first projectile landed short, as did Keith’s, but his second struck the outside of the plastic cup with a dull  _thwack_.

Pidge jumped, looking up with wide eyes before she glanced at the cup, her eyebrows knit together.

Lance grabbed Keith’s wrist to keep him from aiming another seed, his breath catching as he watched for Pidge’s reaction.

She didn’t even spare him a glance before she returned her attention to her notes.

Lance deflated.

Keith shot him a suspicious look. “Is this some crazy scheme to get Pidge’s attention?”

Lance folded his arms and propped his chin on his arms. “Yes,” he admitted, scowling down at the table.

“And you’re doing it now?”

“When else?” Lance demanded. “She won’t talk to me, Keith.” He straightened and picked another seed from a watermelon slice.

But before he could pop it into his mouth, Allura emerged from the private conference with Commander Iverson and Captain Olia. “We will resume the  _planned_  meeting now,” she said with a pointed glower at the offending parties.

Iverson, to Lance’s amazement, blushed, looking abashed, but Olia only crossed her arms and took her seat before Allura led the meeting back into session.

Lance could recall many a dull conference spent exchanging glances with Pidge. A snobby Galra general would say something, and Lance would roll his eyes at Pidge. An obstinate Coalition member would cause a scene, and Pidge would make a snide comment to him under her breath.

Sometimes they turned to each other at the same time, only for their eyes to meet and smiles to touch both of their faces.

(Hunk once commented on their antics and said it was nauseating to watch.)

It was one thing Lance actually looked forward to, sitting beside Pidge and playing tick-tack-toe on the corner of a notepad or just feeling her prod his side if he started nodding off.

“What is it you want to do, exactly?” Keith wondered in a low voice.

“Make her laugh,” Lance said, sighing. “I thought I was good at that, but apparently not.”

Keith frowned. “Maybe try a different tactic?”

“Such as?” Lance raised an eyebrow at him. “Please, Keith, since you’re such a connoisseur of comedy,  _enlighten me_.”

Keith scowled. “I’m trying to help, but if you want to make an ass of yourself—”

Lance’s eyes widened. “Oh, hey, that’s just what I needed!” he said, loud enough that Shiro shot him a warning look until Lance smiled sheepishly at him.

“Wait…what?”

Lance pulled his plate closer and picked a grape from the bunch. “Time to show off my skills as a chipmunk.”

“Again,  _what_?”

Lance stuffed the first grape into his mouth, carefully tucking it between his gums and his cheek so he wouldn’t rupture it by accident. Another soon followed, and another, and the next while Keith gaped at him.

So focused was he on his exercise in entertainment that he barely noticed a few meeting attendees in their vicinity staring at him.

Lance lost count of how many grapes he’d stuffed. They threatened to spill from his mouth - he was pretty sure a drop of saliva slid down his chin - when he glanced towards Pidge.

She was watching him, her eyes wide and incredulous.

Lance grinned, so  _close_  to his triumph he could taste it underneath the grapes…but the motion of his lips shot one from his mouth.

It struck Commander Iverson in his good eye.

The rest of the grapes came tumbling out, and Lance wiped his lips with his jacket sleeve as the meeting fell silent and everyone turned towards him. He smiled - and didn’t quail when Allura’s withering gaze fell on him - and quipped, “They’re so sweet I had to savor them.”

The silence broke when Pidge burst into laughter so strong her face reddened.

“O-one eye for each Red Paladin,” Pidge said between her giggles. “That’s too  _perfect_ , sir.”

Lance’s chest warmed at the sound - and at the triumph. “Sorry about that,” he said, sweeping his discarded grapes back onto his plate. “I’ll stop playing with my food.”

_Mission accomplished._

* * *

Pidge avoided Lance at the end of the meeting.

She knew he sought her - knew he would as soon as she stopped resisting her laughter when his grape stunt resulted in Iverson getting struck in the eye - but she took advantage of Allura holding him hostage afterward to leave as soon as she could.

“Ready to leave already?” her father said when he met her outside near his car.

“We’re not waiting for Matt?” she asked.

“He has a followup meeting for the Coalition,” Sam explained briefly. “He’ll be home later.”

“Then…yes,” Pidge said, though anxiety churned in her stomach at the realization that no Matt meant no buffer between her and their father.

She reached for the passenger door handle, scowling when it proved locked. As soon as the locks clicked, she opened the door and dropped into the seat, buckling the seatbelt and folding her hands in her lap to hide her agitated fidgeting.

After Sam joined her, he shot her a bemused look and wondered, “What’s your hurry? You usually linger to talk to L—your teammates.”

Pidge didn’t miss the way he skipped over the name, so her heart dropped as she realized she wasn’t as subtle as she thought. “I’ll see them again when we launch back into space next week,” she told him with a shrug she hoped looked nonchalant.

But the prospect filled her with dread. Avoiding Lance on Earth was one thing, but when they lived in such close quarters while in space?

It would not be possible - and it would be  _torture_.

“I see,” Sam said as he pulled out of the parking lot.

Pidge studiously stared out the window the entirety of the short route back to her childhood home, her hands clenched into fists while the houses of Garrison employees blurred past. Her father drove in a silence that was deafening when they reached their destination and he cut the engine.

Her hand froze on the door handle when he said, “Wait a minute, Katie.”

Pidge slowly turned her head to face her father, her eyes widening. “Something wrong, Dad?”

Sam smiled. “I think I should be asking you that,” he said.

Pidge wrung the hem of her shirt, her heart pounding in anticipation of the inevitable. The evening before - after the disastrous party - Sam had observed that she looked  _upset_ , but when Pidge shook him off by lying that she was just tired, he’d let her be.

Now it looked like she was in for it.

Pidge bit her lip and said, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Is it someone on your team?”

She stiffened but refused to look up, instead nodding.

“What did…whoever it was do?”

The events of last night flashed through her head, of her and Lance slipping away from the party for a quiet conversation on the roof, of her rush of emotions and frustration making it difficult to hold back what had been building inside her for months or even  _years_.

Of Lance’s lips on hers, warm and soft and everything and  _nothing_.

“It’s…s-silly,” Pidge finally said, hating the way her voice trembled.

“Nothing that would make you cry is silly, Katie,” Sam said. He bopped her chin, and when she glanced at him, he smiled. “Talk to me; let’s see if we can work this out.”

Pidge sighed, but his concern warmed her. Then again, “boy trouble” was the last thing she ever thought she’d be confiding to her father about.

(When it occurred to her to think of it at all.)

“It was just Lance,” Pidge admitted, her voice cracking on his name. She wiped a tear from her face and sniffed, pressing her lips together to keep some composure.

“All right,” Sam said. “What about him?”

“I-I’ve liked him”— _loved him_ —”for a while,” she explained, “b-but he’s interested in…someone else. A-and there’s nothing wrong w-with that!” Pidge rushed to add when Sam raised an eyebrow. “It’s h-his life - or his heart I-I guess - and he can do what h-he wants w-with it!”

And now that she made herself speak the words, they refused to stop.

“I-it’s not like I n- _need_  him to feel the same,” Pidge continued. She pressed her fingers into her eyes and inhaled shakily. “I j-just wanted—I d-don’t know what I wanted.” She leaned over the center console, ignoring the gearshift digging into her stomach, and wrapped her arms around her father.

Sam hugged her, his hand rubbing her back. “How do you know he doesn’t?”

“D-doesn’t what?” Pidge said, her voice muffled against his Garrison uniform - which she was probably getting tears and snot all over.

“Doesn’t feel the same,” he clarified. He stroked her hair - like he did whenever she was inconsolable as a little girl - and added, “Well, if it helps, I always thought Hunk would be a good fit for you.”

Pidge snorted, amused despite the situation. “ _Quiznak_ , no,” she said, giggling as she sat back in her seat. “We have fun and all, but he’s like my brother.”

“Oh, too bad.” Sam laughed. “You feel better?”

Pidge rubbed her itchy eyes. “Maybe…”

He rested his hands on the steering wheel and frowned. “You and Lance were on the roof for a long time last night…”

Her cheeks warmed, but she elected to ignore the comment. “I just need to figure out how I’ll face him once we’re in space again,” Pidge said. She smiled wryly and said, “It’s going to be so awkward.”

“Why?” her father wondered, his tone cautious.

“He”—Pidge covered her face, her whole body flushing at the memory—”kissed me last night.”

The car’s horn sounded, and Pidge jumped, hands springing to her ears reflexively. When she looked up, Sam’s eyes were wide.

The next instant his mouth twisted into a scowl, angrier than she’d ever seen her father.

“If he likes another girl, why the hell would he do  _that_?” Sam demanded.

“I don’t know!” Pidge exclaimed, flailing her arms and irritation digging under her skin all over again. “I’d just made the mistake of confessing to him and—”

“What?”

Pidge covered her hot face with an arm and said, “I got mad and told him I like him.”

When Sam didn’t reply, she peeked over her arm at him to see a surprisingly impassive expression on his face. “Katie, are you  _sure_  he doesn’t—”

“Yes,” Pidge said.

“Maybe you misunderstood something.”

“Like what?”

“Like his motive for doing  _that_.”

Her hand fell into her lap, her chest constricting uncomfortably as she considered. She rubbed her thumb against her palm, trying to still her rushing thoughts while wondering:

_Was her conclusion last night wrong?_

“You haven’t spent as much time around him as I have, Dad,” Pidge mumbled. “Even if the feeling’s mutual, his never seem to last. And I don’t want to be some”—her nose wrinkled—” _consolation_   _prize_  because he can’t have who he really wants.”

“Have you considered that maybe you’re not, Katie?”

“I’m considering it now,” she confessed, “and the probability really isn’t good.”

“Then talk to him,” Sam suggested. “Make sure it really isn’t a misunderstanding.”

“I don’t know, Dad…” Pidge hunched her shoulders, but rather than being on the verge of tears again, numbness set in. “I don’t know if I can deal with it right now, not while I’m home.”

“Well, if you don’t talk to him soon, you might miss your chance to build something great.”

“I’ll…keep that in mind,” Pidge conceded reluctantly, although her father’s familiar advice twisted to suit  _this_  situation tasted sour.

* * *

“Let’s go do something tonight!”

Lance ignored Hunk’s suggestion in favor of scrolling through the photos saved on his phone and moping. He paused on one, a selfie he took of him and Pidge, with his arm wrapped around her shoulders and her leaning into him. Lance’s eyes were fixed on the camera, but Pidge’s…

Hers locked onto his face, an eerily familiar softness to them, while a bemused smile graced her lips.

How didn’t he see it before?

“Lance? Earth to Lance?”

“Leave me alone, Hunk,” Lance whined, resting his chin on his arm while he stared at the picture.

“All right, that’s enough moping for you.”

Lance gasped when Hunk snatched the phone out of his hand. “What the cheese, man?”

Hunk raised an eyebrow at the screen. “You’re going through a folder that’s just pictures of you and Pidge.” He tapped his chin, his thumb flicking over the screen, and added, “I’m a little jealous actually. Where are your pictures of you and  _me_?”

Lance scowled and rested his forehead on the table, hands pressed against the back of his neck while his heart sank. “She hasn’t talked to me yet.”

“She will,” Hunk assured him. “She’ll have to since we’re launching in less than a week.”

“I don’t think I can wait a week, Hunk,” Lance groaned. He sat up and propped his elbow on the table. “My plan at the meeting yesterday worked and it made her laugh—”

“You got Iverson’s eye with a grape on  _purpose_?”

“—but Pidge hasn’t said a word to me since she left me on the roof.”

“It’s barely been two days,” Hunk pointed out.”

“Two days is a  _really_  long time, Hunk,” Lance said, sighing, “especially when you’re used to seeing someone every day.”

“Yeah, I get it,” Hunk said, “which is why we should go out tonight!”

“Okay…” Lance frowned and said, “What do you know that I don’t?”

“Many things,” Hunk said, “but about this? Absolutely nothing!” He set Lance’s phone on the table and rubbed the back of his neck. “I just thought that while we have a free night - here at the Garrison - we could hit the town for old time’s sake, you know?”

Lance’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “You’re inviting Pidge too, aren’t you?”

“Well…” Hunk clasped his hands together, gaze wandering around the kitchen without hitting on him. “Keith says he needs Voltron to have two functional arms.”

His jaw dropped. “Keith is making jokes out of my  _pain_?” he said, indignant and annoyed.

“It’s great, isn’t it?” Hunk grinned. “I told you Galra Keith is funnier.”

“Quiznak, Hunk, you said it yourself:  Pidge doesn’t want to see me yet.” He slumped in his chair, his chest tightening and a lump sitting in his throat at the reminder.

“I…didn’t tell her you’re coming.”

“Wait, she  _agreed_?”

“Not yet.” Hunk dug his own phone from his pocket and examined the screen. “I messaged her an hour ago, so we’ll see if she responds. But no, I’m not telling her you’re coming.”

“Which means that when she sees me she’ll either leave right away or refuse to talk to me,” Lance grumbled, “and I think I prefer her avoiding me completely to her giving me the cold shoulder.”

Just imagining a repeat of the meeting - minus his attempts at entertaining her - made his stomach churn. For Pidge to be within arm’s reach while ignoring him - speaking over him, joking without him, having fun  _apart_  from him - hurt just to think about.

Hunk’s phone chimed, jerking Lance from his bleak thoughts. “Oh, Pidge replied.”

“What did she say?” Lance demanded, jumping out of his seat and leaning towards him.

Hunk grinned. “She’ll come,” he said.

Lance’s heart leaped into his throat, a hopeful smile pulling at his lips.

* * *

“Hunk is a jerk,” Pidge decided.

“Just this once,” Lance said, “I can agree with that.”

Hunk hadn’t shown up to their designated meeting place at the thumb-shaped outcropping of rock between the Garrison’s main building and the town. And Pidge, who was running late leaving her parents’ house,  _fell_  for his ruse of  _picking up a few groceries first_.

When she arrived at the rock, she looked Lance up and down - almost suspecting he hid Hunk somewhere in his jacket pocket - and grumbled, “This was a trap.”

And Lance - pathetically loyal - argued with her…until Hunk himself confessed through a message sent to both of them.

_You two have fun and don_ _’t stay out too late! ;)_

(The emoticon, in her opinion, was rather unnecessary.)

Pidge crossed her arms and tore her gaze away from Lance, though she couldn’t help snatching glances at him from the corner of her eye. Her heart pounded - her father’s advice ringing through her head - but she refused to be the one to break the silence.

“Pidge—”

“I see Iverson didn’t murder you for the grape thing,” Pidge quipped, cutting him off before he could say something more meaningful about the last two days - something that might hurt worse than a harmless joke.

“If he did, could I have counted on you to avenge me?” Lance wondered.

Pidge pretended to think about it, a part of her resenting how quickly she settled back into an easy conversation with him, but the rest of her…relieved. She hunched her shoulders against a sudden chilly gust of dry wind and said, “Maybe.”

“That’s all I get?” Lance whined. “A  _maybe_?”

She rolled her eyes. “Let’s see how tonight goes,” she said, without thinking the words through. “ _Then_  we’ll talk.”

“So,” Lance said, sidling up to her with his hands in his jacket pockets, “we doing this anyway?”

“Hitting the town and meeting girls?” Pidge retorted more snidely than she meant to.

Lance scowled. “Really, Pidge?”

“I…” Pidge sighed, shifting her feet, and said, “I’m sorry.”

Lance shrugged, apparently unbothered, and said, “ _Do_  you still want to head into town? You know, while we’re both here…relive old times?”

Pidge bit her lip, suppressing an unwitting chuckle. “But I never went into town with you and Hunk,” she pointed out.

Lance offered her a smile, and one that, to Pidge, looked almost uncharacteristically shy. “Then let’s cross something off our - or my - bucket lists.” He stuck out his elbow, and when Pidge just stared at it he cleared his throat.

Pidge’s eyes widened when she realized he wanted her to take it, so with a blush high on her face she slipped her arm through his and let him lead her along the road towards the town.

She lived most of her life in one of the townhouses on Garrison premises, built specifically for officers and other personnel and their families, so the town itself - despite the changes it suffered since she left Earth the first time - had been a fixture in her childhood. But between the way she constantly put off Lance and Hunk while attending the Garrison as a student and a devastating Galra attack, she found herself scanning the streets and shops with new eyes.

“What did you and Hunk used to do when you snuck out?” Pidge wondered as her gaze alighted on a bustling restaurant that still had a boarded up hole in one of its walls.

“Flash our fake IDs and sneak into that club over there.” Lance nodded towards a club that had young Garrison officers - out of uniform - loitering just outside of it while ground-shaking music poured out.

Pidge raised a skeptical eyebrow at him. “Really? You got Hunk to use a fake ID?”

Lance smiled sheepishly and admitted, “Fine, it was a dingy little pub where there’s no bouncer to card you.” His pace picked up, and he pulled Pidge along as he pushed through a pair of saloon doors - of all things - and entered an almost empty bar.

“You know,” Pidge said, tugging her arm from his grasp now that there was no reason for it to be there, “we’re  _still_  not old enough to drink legally.”

“Ha, like anyone’s going to card a Paladin of Voltron,” Lance said, waggling his eyebrows at her. “But if you don’t want to drink, I understand; I…think I’d rather be sober tonight too.”

Pidge’s eyebrows flew up. “Then what are we doing at a  _bar_?”

“Well…” Lance grabbed her shoulders - his hands warm on her skin even through the fabric of her sweater - and spun her around. “I thought you’d get a kick out of  _that_.”

Pidge’s gaze caught on a booth in the corner, where an unfamiliar Garrison officer - in uniform - sat across from Captain Olia and her perpetually white-armored and helmeted lieutenant. The Garrison officer explained something emphatically to them, gesturing towards a glass filled to the brim with a colorful slush and with an umbrella poking out.

Captain Olia picked up her own glass - an amber liquid in a tumbler, like whiskey or scotch - and frowned, while her lieutenant grabbed a mug of foaming beer.

The Garrison officer sipped at his beverage and nodded as Captain Olia did the same.

Her nose wrinkled in what might’ve been disgust, and she set down the glass before snatching the officer’s.

His indignant yelp reached Pidge where she stood across the room.

Pidge snorted and turned to face Lance. “Did you  _know_  they’d be here?”

Lance shrugged and held his elbow out to her again. When she took it - this time without hesitation - he led them back outside and said, “I saw them there last time I was here a few days ago. And they’re not the first. I’ve been seeing lots of Garrison officers showing Coalition people around.”

Pidge laughed, amused, but she practically honked at the sight of another Garrison employee leading three other aliens - a Puigian and two Olkari - down the road. The Olkari’s heads swiveled around to take in all the sights, the desert’s barrenness so different from the lush forests of their home world, but the Puigian looked rather bored.

“You think this is Earth’s new normal?”

Pidge’s head spun around, her eyes widening in surprise at the question, but she recovered and said, “Looks like it, but I think it’ll be fun. First contact’s pretty exciting!”

“Yeah,” Lance agreed as they wandered down the road and past boarded up shops. “It’s like something out of a movie.”

They paused in front of the cinema - one she visited so often as a child - and Pidge craned her head back to see the titles of the movies on display.

But she recognized none of the titles.

Her chest tightened as she remembered how long it had been since she planted her feet on Earth’s surface.

Pidge gripped Lance’s wrist, grounding herself before her thoughts dragged her too deep. When he glanced at her - closely enough that his breath warmed her forehead - she joked, “Yeah, it’s almost like  _Men in Black_ , huh?”

Lance chuckled and asked, “You think the Garrison will start wiping people’s memories?”

“Like they have the tech for that,” Pidge scoffed.

A small crowd streamed through the cinema’s exits, full of humans and dotted with all manner of colorful aliens, and all chatting excitedly about a movie that just let out. Pidge watched them with bemusement, wondering what they thought of Earth pop culture, but something on the other side of the movie theater distracted. She grabbed Lance’s hand - ignoring his startled  _squeak_  - and dragged him through the crowd and along the sidewalk.

“Oh no,” she muttered, her heart sinking deep at the sight of the retro arcade she grew up going to, dark and with boarded up windows.

“Oh, is this—quiznak.”

Pidge pinched her eyes closed and murmured, “I came here all the time as a kid.”

“I…didn’t know,” Lance said. He squeezed her hand. “I’m sorry, Pidge.”

She wiped her eyes with her free hand, surprised when her fingers came away damp. “I-I wish I’d been nicer to you and Hunk,” she confessed. “Th-then maybe I could’ve shared this place with you.”

Lance raised an eyebrow at her. “How do you know we didn’t find it on our own?”

Pidge snorted. “You had no idea what  _Killbot Phantasm_ was when we bought it, Lance.”

His cheeks darkened, and he grumbled, “You don’t know that.”

Pidge rolled her eyes. “I just…I hate seeing this place boarded up.”

“Hey, well, when we come back to Earth filthy stinking rich because everyone keeps showering us with gifts—”

“In what fantasy reality are you living in?” Pidge wondered snidely.

“—I’ll buy it and we can fix it up together.” He flashed her a grin, and both that and his words set her heart racing.

But Pidge quashed the wild hope that rose within her. She withdrew her hand from Lance’s, crossing her arms to protect herself from the cold that dotted goosebumps over her skin, and wandered away.

Lance followed, draping his jacket over her shoulders a beat later.

“What’s this for?” Pidge said, brandishing a sleeve at him and pretending her face wasn’t warm enough that she no longer even needed a jacket.

“You shivered,” Lance said, right before shivering.

Pidge shrugged the jacket off and shoved it at him. “And now  _you_ _’re_  shivering,” she said. “Put it back on; I grew up here, I can handle the cold.”

“Are you saying I  _can_ _’t_?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Pidge retorted with a smirk. “You grew up in the tropics, right?”

Lance rolled his eyes but slipped back into his jacket. “I’ll get you back for this.”

“Get you back for making sure you’re not too cold to enjoy such a beautiful night?” Pidge chuckled, tilting her head back to take in the stars.

The town’s streetlights didn’t allow for a dark enough sky for stargazing, but she could still spot all the familiar sights:  Vega, Polaris, Sirius, the shining speck of Venus so close to the crescent moon…

“Pidge, I…think we should talk about the night on the roof.”

Pidge stiffened, her hands clenching. “That was such a long time ago I don’t even remember it,” she said, her voice pitching too high to seem nonchalant. “We  _did_  free Shiro but—”

“Oh, cut the quiznak, Pidge,” Lance interrupted. When she dared a glance at him, his gaze softened. “I just…at least wanted to apologize for the way I did it.”

Pidge blinked, surprised despite the dread curling in her abdomen. “The way you did what?”

“I…” Lance rubbed the back of his neck and looked everywhere but at her. “I shouldn’t have kissed you when I did.”

“O-oh.” Pidge stared at the ground, her hands wringing the hem of her sweater.

Perhaps she should’ve expected this, expected the words that made her heart plummet so low it fell through her feet. Her father - everyone who ever dared hint that Lance returned some measure of her feelings - was  _wrong_ , but Pidge would suffer the heartbreak of it.

“O-of course not,” she said, plastering a smile onto her face despite the trembling she knew was obvious in her voice. “Y-you couldn’t possibly feel the same way about me as I do about you, not when you’ve expressed interest in every girl  _but_  me.”

“Wait, Pidge, that’s not—”

“And, well, I know exactly what a crush looks like on you - plus I’m  _definitely_  not your type and I may be pathetically in love but I  _refuse_  to change just to fit that mold—”

“What? I don’t want you to change!” Lance exclaimed, waving his hands.

Pidge ignored him, too lost in the torrent of thoughts and words and emotions despite her wavering voice. “You flirted with every girl that wasn’t me - and I’m  _glad_  you never tried to flirt with me even after you found out I’m a girl - but a part of me can’t help wondering what might’ve been if we’d met differently. But I also don’t want to be just another girl you thought pretty enough for a dumb line but”—she inhaled shakily and swallowed around a lump in her throat and desperately hoped she wouldn’t start sobbing—”I don’t know what to think about you anymore.”

Pidge fell silent, spent and drained. Her chest ached and her eyes itched, but before she could reach to rub at them, Lance grabbed her hands and interlaced their fingers.

When she met his eyes - and didn’t tear her hands from his grip - he cleared his throat, face as red as hers must’ve been, and said, “That was…a lot.”

Pidge sniffed, too unamused to attempt to snort. “Don’t let it stroke your ego.”

“Come on, Pidge,” Lance grumbled, his fingers tightening around hers. “I’m not—that’s not why I’m here.”

Right,” Pidge said through gritted teeth. “You’re here because Hunk tricked you into it.”

“Sure,” Lance agreed, “but that’s not why I stayed.”

Pidge’s brow furrowed. “Then why…?”

“For you, obviously.” Lance rolled his eyes, then brushed her bangs away from her face. “I haven’t spoken to you in two days, and you know what?”

“What?”

“They were the longest two days of my  _life_ , Pidge,” Lance complained. He leaned towards her, and her breath caught when he rested his forehead against hers and continued in a softer voice, “And I don’t want you to change for me.”

“I-I wouldn’t have anyway,” Pidge said.

“Good,” Lance said, his nose brushing hers as he nodded, “because that’s one of the reasons I f-fell in love with you - just as pathetically too p-probably.”

His breath warmed her face, and somehow that was the only thing Pidge felt as she processed his words, her eyes widening and gazing up into his.

“Oh,” she said lamely.

“And it’s not because you’re - what was the word you used on the roof?”

Pidge bit her lip. “Available.”

“Yeah, that.” Lance cupped her face, his thumb skimming her cheek and making it that much harder to breathe. “I love you too, Pidge.”

“I wish you’d told me that before you kissed me,” she muttered, finally daring to believe it. A smile pushed at her lips as she rested her hands on his shoulders, a flutter in her stomach.

“I do too,” Lance admitted with a wry smile of his own. “C-can we have a do-over?”

“What do you mean?” Pidge wondered despite having a good idea.

“C-can I kiss you again?”

Pidge pretended to think about it - pretended that her heart didn’t pound and that she didn’t resist the urge to lick her lips in anticipation - before saying, “Only if you make it good.”

Lance kissed her softly - right there in the middle of the street.

But Pidge didn’t care, not when warmth filled her chest and Lance’s arm wound around her waist and pulled her closer. She smiled against his mouth before returning the kiss, but giggled when his pinkie brushed her earlobe.

“Tickles,” she mumbled when he pulled back just enough to glare at her for the interruption.

“Well, if you’re done—”

Pidge tugged him down by the back of his head, pressing her lips firmly to his so he’d understand she was  _far_  from done.

* * *

“Wait, what do we tell Hunk?”

“That he’s a big, gassy genius, obviously.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and then Lance probably walked Pidge home, and they held hands and were gross and sappy and flirty the entire way and ended up ~~making out~~ chatting on the porch until Matt opened the door and was like _yes i'm glad you settled this too please just come in Pidge i'm tired and want to sleep ___

**Author's Note:**

> ~~how easy is it to tell i love cyclical plots/stories like gosh dang cyclical stories are so satisfying to write and read~~
> 
> hope you liked!! <3


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